


And I'll be falling down with you once again

by leocantus



Category: Star Ocean: The Last Hope
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Smut, Solo
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-03-23
Updated: 2012-03-23
Packaged: 2017-11-02 10:00:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/367757
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/leocantus/pseuds/leocantus
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silly boys; it was kind of inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Strap me down and tell me I'll be alright

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Faize is in ruins

Ironically, he'd always thought that his focus was absolute, that he was too young to be distracted by such things or, perhaps, not young enough. Something of a gift, he finds, in his line of work. He supposes then that it is only fitting that he find himself in this situation, at the beck and call of his own biology.

 _High stress situation,_ he tells himself, striving to remain detached, but the slide of his hand across his stomach down to where he aches the most, slick with the hot water beating down from above seems somewhat personal, reminiscent of the caress of a lover. His thoughts aren't particularly removed either, his mind obsessing over the events of his earlier spar. _A perfectly natural reaction_ he tries again, but he knows he is fooling no one, least of all himself.

He curls his hand tentatively around himself, and the heat that sparks in the pit of his stomach drives him to lean against the tiles, his knees suddenly weak. He has done this before, of course, in the earlier days of getting to understand himself and so he knows that this is not anything new, but the persistent image of a larger, rougher hand gripping him, of a firmly muscled body pressed to his back, undoes him.

He shudders hard at the pass of his hand along the length of his erection but makes no sound - at least there he still retains that much control - but it is hard won, the press of his thumb against the underside of the head offering plenty of temptation. He takes his victories where he can though because in every other respect he is ruined, panting heavily into the roar of the shower as every thought in his head is consumed by Edge. The breadth of his shoulders, the broadness of his palms, the strength in his arms, the scent of his skin. Unbidden, his pace increases, a change to match the sudden need that curls at the base of his spine, a fervent desire that catches him unaware and leaves him desperate, feeling as though his own hand will not be enough.

 _It has never been like this before_ is the thought fluttering at the back of his mind, but he is well and truly caught now, unable to spare the necessary attention to pick up on and dissect the idea. This is not the first time he has had an appreciation for one of his fellow soldiers, or the first time he has come away from a spar with something other than a greater understanding of battle. The cause for the change is obvious but he shies away. That too, will come later. Instead he is envisioning a different ending to their earlier spar, a quirk of fate where Edge, rather than releasing his hand, had tugged him closer. Had reached up with his free hand and cupped the back of his head. Had pulled him into a slow, wet kiss and--

A rough sort of sound escapes him, too far gone to police his own reactions, and his other hand creeps down, bypassing the other feverishly stroking his erection, to cup curiously at his balls before sliding his fingers further back, wondering. It's here his imagination runs dry but it is more than enough. Faize is so close now he can taste it, is so close that--

"Faize?"

Real or fantasy, the sound of Edge's voice calling his name is all that is needed to make him come. It ends with a moan, an urgent, needy sound that is lost in the steam as Faize spills over his hands to spatter against the wall. Faize is left panting, forehead pressed to the tiles in front of him as the evidence is quickly washed away by the water, but the thoughts remain like a heat that has yet to dissipate, circling Faize's mind like water down a drain.

"Are you almost done?" Edge's voice asks through the safety of the door, and Faize has to clear his throat twice before he can answer. He switches off the shower and steps out of the stall.

"I'll be out in a minute, Edge." Wrapping a towel around himself, Faize finds that the incessant itch under skin, the sudden sensitivity, has abated. Guilt swells in his throat and he swallows it back down, fearful. He doesn't want to...compromise his relationship with Edge but he finds he has little control over the situation. Hopefully this will be enough.

It will have to be.


	2. I can hear the voice but I don't want to listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn't what Edge expected

"You won't mind if I grab the shower first, will you Edge?"

Edge glances up from where he is sitting, one boot already removed, his armour in pieces on the floor next to him. He's quick to look back down though, fingers swiftly working on his other boot. "Nah, go ahead, Faize. I can wait."

The door slips shut behind Faize and Edge releases a shuddering breath, fingers digging into the muscles of his thighs. He's been in situations like this before, of course, has found himself in places where he wanted desperately to slip a hand under the waistband of his pants but couldn't - or perhaps shouldn't - and has instead found a way to cope. This, however, he can't ignore. Nor, a small part of him whispers, despite the protest of the rest, does he want to.

Edge pads barefoot to the door and keys in the code to lock it. Hopefully Faize won't return before he's finished, but he doesn't particularly want anyone else walking in on this. He places one hand against the door, as if hoping that the chill of the metal might help him calm down, presses the heel of his hand to his groin and-- _yes_ , he shuts his eyes, savouring the relief and the sweet, sweet pleasure it brings him. It's tempting to remain there leaning against the door - he's always had a problem with putting a stop to things once he gets started - but no, he wills himself towards his bed. 

This is beyond wrong, he knows, so wrong that he doesn't have the words to describe it, and he has a brief moment of indecision as he wars with himself. But the fire in his blood is maddening, driving him to distraction like an itch he can't scratch, and he'll be useless until he eases it, until he manages to soothe it away. So he finds himself shoving his pants down to mid-thigh regardless. 

If he can just keep his mind blank, he thinks, and treat it like any other moment of indulgence, then there is no problem, but that resolve doesn't last past the first brush of his hand, not when all he can see is Faize after battle, flushed and sweaty and perfect, strength and power written into the lines of his body and Edge is fully hard now, aching and desperate, his boxers stretched and distended by the swell of his erection, the head pushing up past the waistband. The pressure feels good, and Edge teases the glans with his fingers, smearing the precome that wells up as he dips a fingertip into the slit and no, this most definitely will not be like before.

He tries again, breathing deeply as he attempts to make it less personal, but all he can wonder is what his mouth would feel like against his own, what it would be like to taste the skin at the base of his throat. 

Truly - and he realises now even as he finally peels away his boxers - this was a mistake from the start, an exercise in futility and deceiving oneself. He hasn't been able to strike Faize from his thoughts from the moment they met; he knew he'd have no success here. He lets out a gasp and a moan from somewhere deep in his chest when he wraps a hand around himself, heat suffusing throughout his body in a flash and in his mind it's Faize kneeling before him, his slim hand wrapped tightly around his erection and the image is so vivid, so bright behind his closed lids that his body arches of it's own volition, searching for the sensation of skin on skin.

Edge's hand is moving, pumping furiously, his heels digging into the mattress as his hips rise to meet his fist. He's whimpering at the back of his throat, pleasure bursting hot and bright inside him at the friction of his hand and that he is so far gone already should serve as a sign to him, a glaring message for him to sit up and pay attention to. Instead he raises his other hand to his lips, sucks two of his fingers into his mouth and _yes_ , god, to earn the chance to do this to Faize, to lick the salt-sweat from his fingertips, to draw him into his lap and taste his mouth-- _those_ are the things fantasies are made from and Edge is lost, caught up in a world where these dreams are made true.

He reaches down between his parted thighs, teasing the sensitive skin he finds there before sliding both slick fingers deep inside him. It was never something he paid much interest to but now, he thinks, drawing his fingers out only to thrust them back in once more, the idea of being pushed onto his back, of Faize reaching between his thighs, of Faize lifting one leg and--

The thought is a powerful one, one that reduces him to nothing and it's faint,

"Faize,"

hungry

" _Faize_ ,"

but with a moan he's coming, muscles straining as he comes hard into his hand and spills onto his uniform. The silence of the room rings in his ear, broken only by the sound of him panting. He wipes his hands on his already ruined uniform before removing it and dropping it to the floor, ready to be sent down the laundry chute. He pulls his pants back on, finds another shirt to put on, and suffocates in his guilt. To reduce his friend to something like that... no, inappropriate doesn't begin to cover it.

He is suddenly, desperately, in need of a shower.

Edge gathers his things and heads down the ship's corridor towards the men's bathroom. He's gotten it out of his system, so to speak.

"Faize?"

There's no need for it to happen again.


End file.
